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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781786">it's better together</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenAnarchy/pseuds/KittenAnarchy'>KittenAnarchy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU where Harold Jenkins basically survives the first apocalypse, First Apocalypse (The Umbrella Academy), Gen, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Sad Number Five | The Boy, Young Number Five | The Boy, future codependency between a psychopath and a traumatized child: the fic, i do have a way fleshed out, i wrote this a while back and realized I never posted it here so, jenkins is the cursed father lmao, maybe i should make a series of young Five + different characters who could be his dad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:41:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenAnarchy/pseuds/KittenAnarchy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p> “Oh jeez, this is really bad, huh? But it could be worse! I mean, I haven’t seen anyone else yet, but if we survived, someone else also had to, right?” </p>
  <p>The man chuckles, surprisingly calm, giving Five a quick once over.</p>
  <p>“And if not, then at least we’ve got each other. I’m Leonard Peabody, but you can just call me Leonard. Who are you?” </p>
</blockquote>OR: In one universe, Harold Jenkins survives the end of the world... and bumps into little Number Five.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harold Jenkins &amp; Number Five | The Boy, Leonard Peabody &amp; Number Five | The Boy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's better together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is more of a proof of concept, if anything</p><p>I'm probably gonna do a series or a multichap fic <em>based</em> on this idea, but this fic itself is a one off thing that might be rewritten to flow better in a multi-chap fic</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://honeybeesblr.tumblr.com/post/630334244891312128/okay-so-i-said-id-elaborate-i-got-this-idea-from">i wrote the entire idea/plot down here if anyone's curious</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>Five’s not sure how long he’s spent sitting there at the base of the rubble, staring at the pale corpses of his siblings who’d been alive just days earlier. He hasn’t let go of the brick he plucked from Allison’s hair, and it sits heavy in his slack grip. No matter how hard Dolores begs — <em>Five, please, you need to eat something, you need to move</em> — Five can’t bring himself to move. He wants to move, wants to build them a grave, but if he places it, then it’ll be <em>real</em>.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His siblings would actually be dead.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>What’s the point? They were his world, though he would never admit it to their faces.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And now he’ll never get the chance to.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Five sucks in another shuddering sob, burying his face into his ash-covered knees. He ran out of tears awhile ago, and now all that’s left is a vaguely painful burning in his eyes. Though, that could always be from the ash or smoke. He might get an eye infection.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maybe he’ll die.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Does it even matter? He’s the last living person in the world—</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hello? Kid, are you alright?”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Five shoots up immediately, stumbling back as he stares at the man standing across the rubble. <em>He only has one eye,</em> he realizes, the glass one he found in Luther’s death grip weighing heavily in his pocket. He doesn’t believe in coincidences, but this man... this man doesn’t look like someone who could end the world. He’s scrawny, dressed in a baggy jacket with ratty dark hair and dots of stubble lining his jaw. And the way he holds himself — Five is reminded of Vanya. Shy, quiet little Vanya, who’s body he still can’t find.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maybe that’s why he ignores Dolores, who’s screaming at him to get away, and lets the man come closer. The man is still talking, hands waving around.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh jeez, this is really bad, huh? But it could be worse! I mean, I haven’t seen anyone else yet, but if we survived, someone else also had to, right?” The man chuckles, surprisingly calm, giving Five a quick once over. “And if not, then at least we’ve got each other. I’m Leonard Peabody, but you can just call me Leonard. Who are you?” He seems friendly enough. Maybe the shock of it all hasn’t set in, or maybe he’s just processed it better than Five, which is a little bit more than embarrassing. He can practically hear his father now: <em>A</em> <em>mere civilian has more sense than you, Number Five! </em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m... Five,” He mutters, wincing at how rusty his voice is from disuse. “How did you—?”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Wait, wait, sorry,” Leonard cuts him off, digging through the duffel bag slung on his shoulder. He pulls out a water bottle, handing it to him. “Your voice is pretty roughed-up there, bud. Drink as much as you want.”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Five stares at the bottle. “That’s... actual clean water,” he says, and it’s such a stupid thing to get choked up about, but he hadn’t managed to find any in the past few days, and yet here this man was, just giving it out freely. “Why?”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, you’re just a kid from a, well, preparatory school, and you sound awful. I’ve got more in my bunker,” he holds out his hand, motioning Five to follow. “You wanna come with me?”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Don’t do it,</em> Dolores murmurs into his ear, <em>I don’t trust him at all. His eye, Five, his eye!</em></p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I...” Five’s fingers sting, and he realizes he’s still clutching the brick from earlier. “I can’t— I have to build their graves.” He stumbles over to Klaus, who stares unseeing into the distance. The brick weighs heavily in his palm.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He needs to put the brick down.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Five brushes his brother’s dirty, ashy hair back.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He needs to put the brick down.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Klaus has grown up so much in the past seventeen years.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He needs—</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Leonard’s hands cover his. Five watches, almost detached, as his calloused hands remove the brick from his loose grip, tossing it aside. It’s bounces slightly, before sliding down the hill and out of Five’s view. “It’s okay. You’re one of the Umbrella kids, aren’t you?”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>What?</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m so sorry, kid. They must’ve been awful. You don’t have to do anything for them.” Leonard’s tone is gentle, like how one might soothe a scared animal, but his words— his words make Five’s hackles rise.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>“Excuse me?</em>” He snaps. Who the hell does this man think he is, insulting his family like that? Sure, they didn’t always get along, but they loved each other like siblings. “My family—“</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Your family never looked for you.” His protests die on his tongue, and Five can only stare as Leonard goes on, almost eagerly. “I don’t want to be harsh, but I think I need to make this clear: they never looked for you. The whole world read your sister’s book—“</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Book...?” Five nearly huffs out a laugh in relief. Neither of his sisters had been much for writing, so Leonard has to be mistaken—</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah, Vanya, I think the author’s name was?” No. No, no, no, no, no. There’s no way. “Yeah, she said that you guys were never really a family, exposed a lot of secrets...“ Vanya? Sweet, mousy little Vanya, who he shared secret glances and rolled eyes with? Vanya, who played him any new songs she’d learned? Vanya, his best friend? “...Five?”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“She... she really said all of that...?” He hates how his voice cracks slightly, hates the pitying look in Leonard’s eyes, hates the familiar knot building in his throat.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah, I’m sorry Five. You were the brother that ran away... she kind of implied that it was your fault everything fell apart,” He doesn’t— he never— he never wanted to leave <em>forever</em>. Leonard’s hand on his back is a grounding weight, rubbing gentle circles as another sob forces its way out of Five’s mouth. He barely registers Leonard leading him away from the rubble. “Do you want me to show you? I do have her book and some food. We can come back later to bury them.”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“...please.” Five mutters, because there’s no way his little sister, of all people, would’ve said that. Leonard has to be wrong. He has to be. Grabbing Dolores’s wagon, he hesitates for a moment. “Can we... come back to bury them later?”</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Of course.” He smiles, and that’s enough for Five.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Despite Dolores’s protests, Five takes Leonard’s hand, and the two of them walk out together into the wasteland and away from his family.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>(Fifty years later, as Five watches the life drain out of Leonard’s— no, <em>Harold’s</em> body, feels Diego’s hand on his shoulder as he drags him away, he realizes they never went back to bury his siblings.)</p>
</div>
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